


mambo italiano

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: B A N T E R fun times, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, best read on mobile apparently bc the spacing is ridiculous, but here i am, i feel like i should apologize for this too, i refuse to admit that this labor of love is a crack!fic but......, it's a crackfic, it's also going to be kinda a road trip fic but not really, no plot??? also vaguely a christmas fic you'll see, this is what i get for making it mostly dialogue, very very crack.... like nothing is serious.....BUT FUN like read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pep asks Luis to do the impossible and take him out on a real date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Barcelona >> Milan

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY
> 
> but also ridiculously proud of this??? the longest thing ive ever written. im also ridiculously impatient hence me posting ~~2~~ 3 parts. it's been 3 days and i want to finish this. Set in the 14/15 season, but let's imagine that Barca and Bayern didnt play the 20th and the 19th of december, okay?
> 
> disclaimer: ive never been to italy and i feel like ive disappointed all of asturias and catalunya with this (also tenative title bc who am i kidding) 
> 
> IMPORTANT: really ~zesty~ scene can be skipped if you're not interested, it's between the first asterisks 
> 
> (also not beta'd so im sorry for any mistakes.)
> 
>  
> 
>  **real chapter notes:**  
>  1.) xavi and crew are gonna come back later  
> 2.) they're gonna go to more places than just florence  
> 3.) the [ song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6e3MnxKcvoA%20) i was talking about in the club (its reggaeton but daddy yankee's part is fire)  
> 4.) the [ red sweater](https://40.media.tumblr.com/4427a374fafc2bfcd81947f7234ffb96/tumblr_nxbglepNqz1qkji30o1_500.jpg) in question. (i know [pep's](http://www.bayerncentral.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/GettyImages-500436946.jpg) is a v-neck, you can either ignore that or imagine that pep bought his after the fact)  
> translations:  
>  _ximple_ : stupid  
>  _anar al infern_ : go to hell  
>  _no me digas que vas a estar pensando en ese puto portugués cuando te estoy follando_ : don't tell me you're going to be thinking about that "damn" Portuguese while I'm fucking you.  
>  _Un poco de tacto, por favor. Claro que no, por Dios_ : Have some tact/manners, please. Of course not, my God.
> 
>  
> 
> thanks for reading, as always!! (seriously, thank you so much)

 

It took Luis a while to figure out what had pulled him from his sleep, for everything seemed to be in order. The room was dark – nighttime. Check. Only had the smallest corner of his bedsheets – not normal, but expected. Check. Confusing faint periodic, yet annoying buzzing sound…  _not check_.

“Luis, your phone,” a voice called out beside him, the tired groan doing nothing to hide the exasperation coloring their tone.

“No, shit,” Luis mumbled, rolling over to grab his phone from the nightstand. How it managed to be on the other side of the bed, he’d never know. Through his fumbling, Luis was very lucky to avoid a knee to some very delicate parts, but not so lucky in avoiding an elbow to the face.

 

(“Hey, watch it! Is this you trying to be passive aggressive?”

“Some people are trying to sleep here and you crawling all over them isn’t exactly helping.”

“I’m doing this for you, y’know. I was just gonna let it ring.”

“I would’ve shoved it down your throat. I should have, actually. That would’ve stopped your snoring too.”

_Smack_

“Ow! Luis!”)

 

“Hello,” Luis snapped, rolling back on to his pillow, shutting his eyes as if he was going to fall back asleep.

_“Eh, míster?”_

Luis stifled a sigh, instead deciding to show his disappointment by stating the obvious instead. “Geri, we’re on break.” Almost the obvious. The team had their final short training before the Christmas holidays later that morning, but it was still no excuse for the Catalan to be calling Luis at such a late hour.

 _“I thought we had training tomorrow?”_  The surprised voice on the other end of the line echoed his train of thought and, this time, Luis couldn’t hold back his sigh.

“Gerard, what do you want?”

“ _Uh, I, uh.”_ He began before slowing thickly. Gerard, then, cleared his throat, _“IwaswonderingifyouknowwhereLiois.”_

“Excuse me?”

A nervous laugh was the immediate response from the other line.  _“It’s just that you’re not on the groupchat, so I cal- Suárez messaged Andrés, except Iniesta didn’t respond, then, Suárez messaged Dani who messaged me and Ney and Ney added **me**  to the other groupchat and-“_

“Piqué.”

_“We can’t find Lio.”_

Luis groaned in earnest, wondering what the hell his team was up to at three in the morning. “I don’t know where he is, Gerard.”

_“Oh.”_

At this point, Luis could hear Gerard talking to the people surrounding him, no doubt updating them on their manager’s cluelessness. Luis let out another sigh, shutting his eyes while he rubbed his forehead almost as if he was manually forcing his thoughts away from what the group could have possibly been doing and the mess that he would have in the morning. Once he opened his eyes, Luis was greeted by the sight of another pair of brown eyes blinking owlishly at him, all in all looking too awake for someone this early in the morning.

“Are you checking your phone?” Luis hissed after realizing that the only reason he was able to see his bed partner – now conveniently propped up against the headboard in a sitting position – was because of the faint blue light that their screen was giving off. A shrug was his only reply, until Luis smacked his partner’s shoulder. “ _Pep._ ”  
  
_“Did you say something, Míster?”_  Pique asked, abruptly cutting off the conversation at his end.  
  
“No, do you know where he is yet?” Luis gritted out while glaring at Pep, unwilling to break the other’s indignant stare.

Pep opened his mouth as if to say something, only to be interrupted by Gerard.

_“If I did, I woul- LIO!”_

Luis flinched at Gerard’s scream, mumbling unhappily before realizing that finding Messi was actually something to be pleased about. He listened to the groups’ jovial exclamations and chatter for a few moments, a small smile appearing on his face before Luis decided to call it a night  
  
“Goodnight, Geri.” He tried to yell over the noise, turning to place the phone on  _his_  nightstand after he hung up.

Pep followed suit, his mood from earlier having dissipated as soon as it appeared. “You know,” he started, trying to act nonchalant. “Since we’re up-“  
  
Luis looked at the other man incredulously, before letting out a surprised bark of laughter that was cut short by a yawn. “Save it for the morning, yeah?” He murmured, rolling over to press a kiss to the other’s cheek, making sure Pep saw the face he made after his lips met the rough stubble. “I’ll wake you up with a blowjob, then, sound good?”  
  
Pep scoffed, “Sure you will.”  
  
“Goodnight, Pep.” Luis muttered pointedly, somehow managing to put an edge of finality in sleepy tone.  

Ped didn’t even attempt to hide the fondness in his responding laugh, carding his fingers through the other man’s hair one last time before going to sleep.

*

In the end, Pep wasn’t exactly woken up by a blowjob, but he couldn’t complain. Instead, Luis made good on his promise by peppering kisses along Pep’s collarbone while absentmindedly palming the front of Pep’s boxers.

“So I was right.” Pep smiled, eyes still closed.

Luis snorted, halting his ministrations to look at Pep while his eyes fluttered open. “Well, considering how catty you were last night, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to being kicked while I had your cock in my mouth.”

“Such a smooth talker,” Pep murmured before leaning up to catch Luis’ lips in a quick kiss, making a face after pulling away. “You brushed your teeth? How long have you been up? Let me brush mine, too.”

Luis just shook his head, sliding his hand into Pep’s shorts, grinning wickedly at the other’s sharp intake of breath. “You can do that later, we can even shower together if you play your cards right.”

The heat of the Catalan’s glare was dulled due to the fact that Luis continued his maddingly slow pace as soon as he got his hand under the aforementioned piece of clothing. “You know, people don’t usually insult the person they’re going to suck off.”

Luis laughed, kissing the tip of Pep’s nose before tugging his boxers off. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, but if the shoe fits.” His tone was far too jovial for Pep’s liking, earning Luis a cuff to the ear, following a muttered string of insults, of which Luis only got  _since when did he become a morning person_  and  _shower together, my ass crack._

 “Take it, instead, as,” Luis continued, punctuating every word with a kiss as he lowered himself down Pep’s body, “me bragging about my skills.”

“Fuck you,” Pep gasped, fisting his hands in the sheets as the Asturian paid special attention to a spot above his hipbone, intent on leaving a mark. “You don’t even have any.”

“Fighting words, Josep. Fighting words.”

*

In the end, Pep did end up returning Luis’ favor, but not without his fair share of complaints after he finished.

 

(“Tile isn’t good for the knees. I’m too old to be doing this.”

“Stop grumbling, you offered.”

“You owe me.”

“Shut up and hand me the soap”

“…”

“…Please?”

“…”

“Ow! You didn’t have to throw it! I actually have to go to training soon, y’know.”)

 

*

Luis ended up going to training and left Pep to tie up any lose ends he had in Germany until his return. Usually not a morning person, Luis tried his best to put on his I’m-not-fully-awake-don’t-talk-to-me-after-my-third-cup-of-coffee scowl on, but, due to the strange looks his staff kept on giving him when he arrived, it didn’t seem to be working. At least most of the team didn’t realize it -given their own sleep-deprived states after doing God knows what the night before- but it was impossible to ignore Xavi’s inquiring gaze and the weirdly pleased smiles Andrés threw his way.

“What did  _you_  do last night?” Xavi asked him during a water break, causing the coach to roll his eyes at the Captain’s typical bluntness.

“I should ask you the same thing.”

Xavi snorted. “ _I_  didn’t do anything.  _I_ stayed home, unlike  _some_  people,” he exclaimed, spilling water as he gesticulated accusingly.

“Iniesta went out and you didn’t? I find that hard to believe.” 

“Well,” Andrés piped up, causing the pair to jump at the other’s sudden appearance. “I ran out of milk.”

“And you lost Messi ho- You know what, no.” Luis shook his head with a sigh. “Don’t answer that, I don’t need to know.”

“We were planning a Christmas party,” Andrés offered, earning him a glare from his coach that seemed to say  _I didn’t want to know_. “You’re invited, by the way,” He added in an offhand voice, having grown immune to other’s glares. “You can bring the drinks. Or ice. But Mathieu is in charge of the drinks too, but no one really trusts him, so bring the drinks.”

Luis stared at Andrés in disbelief, not knowing whether to be touched that he was invited to the team’s secret Christmas party or resentful at the fact that he had no way of skipping out on it since they were counting on him to bring something potable.

“I thought I was in charge of the ice.”

“Everyone’s in charge of the ice, Xavi.” Andrés stated matter-of-factually, meeting Luis’ eyes in a sympathetic gaze over Xavi’s shoulder. “You remember what happened last time, don’t you? –Oh, and you can stop by my house beforehand, míster, that way you can leave your car there and give me my present.”

“I-He- wha-“

Luis’ loud laugh drowned out Xavi’s surprised stuttering. “How do you know I’m getting you a present?”

At this, Andrés had already turned his attention to Alba and Messi who were engaged in some sort of racing game, not as one-sided as one might’ve expected. “I know, Lucho,” Iniesta muttered absentmindedly, reaching up to pat the taller man’s shoulder. “I know.” He repeated more firmly, turning to pointedly look at a spot on Luis’ collarbone where his shirt had slipped off slightly.

Thankfully, Xavi was still reeling at the fact that Andrés seemed to unquestionably be on Luis’ gift list – the Asturian did have a reputation of giving small presents during the holidays, but no one thought vegan dark chocolates really counted – that he missed the pair’s suspicious exchange. Luis, on the other hand, was at a loss of words for a completely different reason, torn between cursing Pep’s favoritism towards the midfielder and the midfielder himself.

_That son of a bitch._

_…Was that a threat?_

*

 Unfortunately, Xavi never really got over the initial shock about this gift list that he wasn’t a part of.

 

(“You know all those assists I gave you? I take back every single one, even the game winning ones.”

“I never said I was gonna give Iniesta another gift. Y’know I’m planning on giving the whole team a little something.”

“Wait, you’ve known Andrés for how long now and you’re not even gonna give him a real gift?! Ho-”

“I give ever-“

“No,  _fuck_  your chocolates, they taste like shit. Everyone knows you regift them, just tell your cousin that you’re allergic”

“Why do you think they’re vegan? I’ve tried!”

“So, are we both gonna get real gifts this year?”

“Both? So now it’s you  _and_  Andrés?”

“It was always about me! No, fuck, I mean- You were already gonna give something to-”

“Oh-ho!”

“Fuck you, Luis Enrique. What are you going to give us for Christmas?)

 

Ironically, it was Piqué that saved Luis from answering more questions from the angry captain, but, since he caught the tail end of the conversation, Luis was subjected to answering the defender’s own questions about the holiday.

Somehow, Luis got roped into bringing deserts to this party while the Brazukas sang along to Wham!’s “Last Christmas.” Maybe someone would put him in charge of the music, too.

*

Pep was in a heated discussion with his own coaching staff when Luis finally made it back to the house, and given the Catalan’s tone, it had been going on for a while. Greeting him with a kiss – one that interrupted Pep mid-sentence, much to his chagrin, as well as causing the person on the other side of the line to audibly splutter at the audible  _smack!_  – Luis turned in to take his  _siesta_. He knew full well that at the rate Pep was going he could be on the phone for a few more hours.

“They don’t understand why I had to leave so early.” Pep sighed, throwing his head back against the couch. Luis had joined him on the sofa once he woke up from his short nap. It had lasted a little over half an hour, but it wasn’t because he wasn’t tired - it appeared that his body was already acclimated to the other man, even after only having spent the last two nights with him at his side. At least Pep had stopped pacing at this point, but the tension was still evident in his stiff posture.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

“What?” Pep blurted out, taken by surprise by Luis’ non sequitur.

“What do you want for Christmas?” He repeated, pulling his legs up and shifting so that his feet rested on his partner’s lap.

“Do you want me to say all I want for Christmas is you? I don’t want anything.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “What do you need, then?”

“I don’t need anything.” Pep stated, a slight edge creeping into his tone. “I don’t know why you’re asking me this,” he continued affronted, causing his voice to rise in pitch, “I don’t- This isn’t important.”

“Okay, no, we’re not doing this. We’re not going to fight over the fact that I want to give you something nice.”

“But it’s not necessary!” He exclaimed breathlessly, staring at Luis with a mixture of shock and indignation.

“Fuck, Pep. I like you, let me do something nice for you,  _for once_.” Luis huffed, turning his gaze back to the television, glad that now that Pep stopped pacing he could see the whole movie except every third scene.

“I don’t-” Pep began before thinking better of it, instead just shaking his head. Later, out of the corner of his eye, Luis spotted the younger man’s crossed arms, a tell-tale sign that he was fighting with his self-doubts. He remembered that in the beginning of their relationship these bouts would be more common, since Pep was still surprised that Luis was actually interested in him, and it seemed that the question  _“Why me?”_  wasn’t quick to leave his mind. He needed time, and Luis still wasn’t opposed to giving him all that he needed.

“A date.”

“What?” It was Luis’ turn to be taken aback by the sudden change of subject, though, at least he had the film to blame.

“We’ve been going out for how long? And you still haven’t taken me on a real date.”

Luis scoffed, an affectionate smile curling up the corners of his lips. “You haven’t taken me out on one either.”

“Hey,” Pep laughed, nudging Luis’ legs playfully before facing him with a shy smile, “I thought  _you_  wanted to get me a present.”

“You have weird taste.”

“Obviously,” Pep chuckled, his smile turning into a wicked grin, “Why do you think I’m dating you?”

“Hey!”

“And, don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” Pep continued, easily dodging Luis’ soft kick. “We’re bound to be recognized everywhere we go.”

“So this is you purposefully asking for the impossible, just so that I won’t be able to give you a present.” It wasn’t a question.

“Obviously,” Pep repeated in a mocking tone, not bothering to cover his triumphant expression.

*

It was Pep’s turn to do the dishes after dinner, mostly because Luis insisted that it would be acceptable to not wash them until breakfast.

 

(“Josep, I understand Catalan. I know you’re insulting me.” Luis muttered, glaring daggers at the younger man’s retreating form. Insults he could handle, but the exaggerated gesture of throwing his hands in the air and asking God to give him some patience as well as an explanation for why he  _was stupid enough to date someone as sloppy as this man-child,_ he could not.

“You’re not a bachelor anymore, Luis Enrique.” He called out over his shoulder.

“I could be if you keep calling me  _ximple!”_

 _“Anar a l'infern!_ ”)

 

“So,” Luis began, ignoring Pep’s apprehensive glare after he hopped on top of the counter next to the sink. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but since the Asturian forewent of his usual continued complaints about Pep’s anal habits, the younger man was a little on edge. That and the fact that Luis was intently scrolling on his phone – there weren’t any games or pressing analyses that he had to focus on. “How about Italy?”

The sudden question took the Catalan by surprise, causing him to halt his actions and momentarily rest his hands in the soapy water “What about Italy?” He asked slowly, sparing a glance over at Luis before returning his focus to the task at hand.

“Our date.” Luis said simply, not bothering to look up from his screen.

Pep laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” Luis replied, choosing to punctuate his sentence by meeting Pep’s gaze with a level stare.

“But we’ll—” Pep shook his head in disbelief, unable to contain his laughter. “It’ll never work, Luis.”

“Ever heard of hiding in plain sight?”

Lips still twitching in amusement, Pep let out a sigh before drying his hands with a last shake of his head. “You’re impossible,” he breathed, looking over at Luis fondly.

“Is that a yes?” Luis asked, unable to mask his hopeful tone.

Pep rolled his eyes, “You won’t let me say ‘no’ will you?”

Luis nodded, leaning over to catch Pep’s lips in a kiss. “I’ve been told that I’m impossible.”

Pep not-so lightly shoved Luis at this statement, lip curling in mock disgust, “Ugh, a fucking sap, too.” 

*

Vowing to avoid Rome at all costs, Luis bought the pair tickets to Milan since neither had any significant attachments to  _that_  city. Well, apart from the fact that it had “Territory of the Special One” written all over it, but there was a unique type of satisfaction knowing that they were encroaching on that person’s domain with non-professional ventures; in all honestly, that sentiment was mostly on Pep’s part.

 

(“Ehhh, no me digas que vas a estar pensando en ese puto Portugués cuando te estoy follando.”

“ _¡Luis Enrique!_ Un poco de tacto,  _por favor_. Claro que no, por Dios.”

“Hey! Don’t give me that. I’m just checking.”

“Jesus, who do you take me for? What the fuck.”

“I’ve read what the magazines say about you two.”

“Holy mother of-  _Who are you?_  Is it too late for me to turn back?”

“Have any other deities you want to bring up?”

“I’m literally going to jump off this plane.”)

 

Turning to walk backwards a few steps ahead of Pep in order to face him, Luis spread out his arms in a grand gesture, “The city’s all yours. What do you want to do now?”

“Quit that,” Pep hissed, frantically waving the brochure he picked up from the VIP lounge back in Barcelona at the Asturian so that he would put his arms down. “You’re making a scene. Walk like a normal person.”

Luis snorted, but did as he told. He knew better than to argue with Pep over something so petty, unless he  _really_  wanted to make a scene. “You never answered my question.”

“Let’s just put our stuff down, yeah? We can’t really do anything at four in the morning now, can we?” Luis did try to get Pep to agree to a later flight, but so far his hiding-in-plain-sight argument only got Pep’s support in terms of going on the trip, nothing else. Spotting the tired faces of the taxi drivers that greeted them at the airport’s exit, Luis bit back a sigh not wanting to spend what could be his last moments arguing with his boyfriend. The deed was done and it was too late to bring the debate up again on the basis that if they had left later they would have been in safer, more awake hands, when they commuted to their hotel. It wasn’t often that Luis lost an argument based on stubbornness, yet with Pep, he managed to do just that. “We can take a nap at the hotel.”

“I didn’t pay for a trip just so that we could slee-“

“And,” Pep interjected, acting like Luis hadn’t spoken. “Go sightseeing afterwards.”

Shooting an apprehensive look at their yawning driver that was ambling slowly to the front of the car, Luis scowled, “Best idea you’ve had all day.”

*

The pair survived their commute to the hotel unscathed, though not without a few worrying moments. The driver informed them that this was his last shift, working overtime since someone had called in sick, and after exchanging a glance – Luis’ alarm quickly melted into an  _I told you so_ stare much to his partner’s embarrassment – prompted Pep to strike up a conversation in his rusty Italian all the way to their hotel. The Catalan claimed it was good practice, though he said that mostly as a weak attempt to defend his honor. On the other hand, Luis’ smug expression remained until the couple went back to bed, having quickly recovered from the jolting stops and turns their driver did. However, they weren’t able to sleep as much as they wanted to.

The bed was a bit smaller than Luis’ at home, reminiscent to the times they were forced to share beds when they faced smaller teams. That wasn’t the issue, though; Pep, with his flailing arms and surprisingly knobby knees could turn into a bit of an octopus when he wanted to and wasn’t curled up clear on the other side of the bed with all of the sheets. Luis had grown accustomed to this, mostly endearing, habit, however inconvenient. But when the air conditioning wasn’t working – and they refused to crack open the windows because they thought they wouldn’t need to, sheer laziness on their part – this habit became more than a mild inconvenience, especially when they woke up in a pool of sweat in the dead of winter.  

They took to the streets of Milan just before noon, and even under the glaring sun and a cup of coffee, Luis didn’t feel awake. Conversely, Pep strolled in front of him in his usual manner – he had the ability to stake a claim into everything and make it his own. Sometimes the Asturian wondered just how he got to be in this position in the first place.

Luis chuckled at his own thoughts, causing Pep to abruptly turn around.

“Did you say something?” He asked, walking back in order to fall into step next to Luis.

“Aren’t you going to take a break or something? This isn’t a marathon.”

“I’m just… looking,” Pep mumbled, lowering his gaze apologetically.

“C’mon,” Luis nodded towards the plaza they were approaching “let’s take some pictures at least.”

Pep visibly lit up that the statement, quickly handing his phone to Luis before jogging a few steps ahead of him. “Take some of me.”

“By yourself?” Luis snorted, but followed Pep’s suggestion anyways, even kneeling down after taking a couple photos to take some at a better angle.

“If you’re hanging all over me, how am I supposed to crop you out of them when we break up?” Pep replied flippantly.

“Oh, now you want to break up with me? After I paid for this trip?” Luis grumbled while standing up. Pep let out an airy laugh in response, wrapping his arms around the Asturian’s neck after he gave him his phone back.

“I guess you’re gonna have to win me back,” Pep said matter-of-factually, flashing the older man a cheeky grin. Hooking his fingers in Pep’s belt loops, Luis rolled his eyes, “Do I want to? I mean, we’re on this date and all you can talk about is dumping me.”

Pep hummed noncommittally, licking his lips, “It’s up to you.”

“You’re the worst,” he muttered with a shake of his head and a laugh of his own, Luis leant forward to capture Pep’s lips in a kiss.

 

(The pair kissed languidly for a few moments, long enough that Pep had the time to tangle his fingers in Luis’ hair and Luis had the chance to pull the other’s hips flush against his before a loud  _“EW!”_   broke them apart.

Thankfully, it wasn’t aimed at them, but at an odd teenage couple sporting matching looks with strange dark-colored hair with neon streaks that was also engaging in PDA. From what they could tell, the person responsible for the outburst was a much younger sibling, unluckily fulfilling the role of a third wheel.

“We should-“

“Uh, yeah.”)

 

“Wait!” Pep yelled, tugging on Luis’ wrist. Stumbling back, Pep knocked his shoulder against the Asturian, hard, much to Luis’ despair, before thrusting his phone in front of the pair. “Let’s take a picture together.” Luis’ pained grimace disappeared at that, smiling at Pep’s cue, thus hiding his mild surprise.

Once satisfied with the results, Pep moved forward once again, before Luis held the Catalan back, ignoring his surprised protests as he laced their fingers together.

“ _Wh_ -what are you doing?”

“Holding your hand, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Pep stared at their linked hands for a moment before looking back up at Luis. “Why?”

“I heard –and I might be wrong— that this is what people do on dates.”

Pep only stared at him in stunned silence.

“Just go with it, okay?” Luis murmured, pressing a swift kiss to Pep’s temple. “When do we ever get to do this?”

The  _“Never”_ hung heavily in the air between them for a heartbeat before the Catalan’s lips twitched in a small, shy smile. “C’mon,” he squeezed Luis’ hand, “take me out to lunch.”

*

Unbeknownst to the couple, a familiar pair of blue eyes followed their retreating forms. His furrowed brow reflecting his confusion at the couple’s linked hands.

“ _Was that—?_ ”

“Geri! C’mon, we’re going to be late!”

*

They returned to their room a couple of hours after their late lunch, falling asleep to the sounds of an BPL game, one that, thankfully, ended in a tie.

“What do you want to do now?” Luis asked Pep after joining the other man on the balcony.

Pep scoffed, “What do you mean? It’s too late to do anything.”

“Let’s go to a club.”

A beat passed before, “I hope you’re not using our date to go through your midlife crisis.”

“It sounds like _you’re_  going through your midlife crisis.” Luis quipped, giving Pep a pointed look.

“Luis—”

“ _Pep_ ,” The Asturian interjected, “It’ll be fun. When’s the last time you went to a club?”

Even though it was a rhetorical question, Pep couldn’t help but frown at the tally his brain came up with. That and the fact that the press would have a field day if they got caught. “ _Luis—_ ”

“We won’t have to stay. And no one will recognize us, either, I promise.” Luis added confidently before placing his hand on Pep’s shoulder. “Please, just this once.”

He pursed his lips in thought. He was going to regret this. “…Just this once,” Pep agreed with a drawn out sigh.

The pair ended up going to one of the city’s more popular clubs, Pep blamed the glass of wine he had beforehand in making him agree to more of Luis’ “hiding in plain sight” logic.

 

(“Do you think we’ll get carded?” Luis asked, eyes bright. The line was pretty long, but going incognito meant succumbing to the long wait.

“Just because we’re dressed casually doesn’t mean we look 20 years younger,” Pep laughed loudly. “You better hope the bouncer doesn’t recognize us.”

“Hmm,” Luis hummed thoughtfully before pinching Pep’s cheeks. “I think he won’t.”

“I hate you.”)

 

And, much to Pep’s chagrin, the trip did turn out to be worth it. He felt like he was twenty-something again and like he was doing something dirty like sneaking around  _el míster’s_  back to have this bit of fun. Especially, when Luis was hanging all over him the entire night and continued to reiterate how pleased he was at Pep’s clean-shaven appearance.

 

(“Have I told you how much I like you in jeans?”

Pep had half a mind to tell the Asturian “Yes, this is the fifth time tonight,” but instead could only reply by dumbly parting his lips while his eyes rolled back in his head as he sagged against the older man while Luis’ continued to grind up against him, tongue tracing the outer shell of Pep’s ear to conclude his statement.

“I thought I would miss your beard  _but_ —” For a man who said he could handle his liquor, it only took Luis a few overpriced shots to want to do something halfway indecent on the dance floor.

Pep wanted to be mad, but it was hard to think coherently when Luis talked to him like  _that_. He cursed Wisin, Yandel, and Daddy Yankee to high heaven.)

 

*

It was inevitable that the pair would be spotted eventually, but ironically, it wasn’t due to scandalous images of them at the club – and scandalous would have been an understatement, considering the state they were in when they finally made their way back to their hotel room. Actually, it was all Pep’s fault.

“Oh,  _fuck_.” Pep groaned before collapsing on the bed, burying his head in his arms.

Luis, who was trying to arrange the day’s haul in their luggage, looked up from his place on the floor. They started the day by going window shopping, but decided to treat themselves in the end. The “When in Italy” excuse was turning out to be expensive. “…Pep?”

“I’m so sorry. Shit, I am so so sorry,” Pep muttered.

“What’s wrong?” The Asturian asked, having quickly gotten up after his initial inquiry. Sitting down next to Pep, Luis rubbed soothing circles on the small of the other man’s back.

Exhaling loudly, Pep raised his head only to free one of his hands so that he could toss his phone onto Luis’ lap.

**_MAMMA MIA! GUARDIOLA TO SERIE A?  
_ ** _Is Pep’s stint in the Bundesliga finally over? The Catalan coach was spotted in Milan thi-_

“Oh,” was Luis’ only reply. The article continued to speak about Pep’s discontent at the  _other_  FCB while citing stats from his Roma days. At the bottom of the articles were four grainy images, but they were clearly of Pep. They were from when he’d stepped out before Luis had woken up to get some breakfast. Apart from the coffees and food he carried, Pep also had a bag swinging from his wrist. “I bought another red sweater because you stole mine. It was my favorite, y’know” was what the Catalan chose to greet Luis with instead of “Good morning.”

“Two days. That has to be a record, right?” Pep laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry to cut our trip short.”

“Do you want it to end?” Luis asked suddenly, looking at the other man intently.

“What do you mean?”

“I bought a one-way ticket,” Luis admitted, words coming out in a breathless rush. “We can stay, if you want. Hell, we can drive to Tuscany.”

“Drive?” Pep echoed incredulously.

“Well,” Luis shrugged, “the paps are bound to be at the airport looking for you.”


	2. Florence >> Pisa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saga of middle-aged men running away from the curious eyes of the paparazzi during their honeymoon-esque type date continues.
> 
> In which we learn that Pep is the type of person to give his significant other a cute nickname in his contacts and in which we learn Luis is all talk but no walk.
> 
> In the end, the truth starts trickling back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (don't ask me about all the weird mentions about sex. i dont even know.)
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS!
> 
> ALSO YES THAT'S AN EXTRA CHAPTER change in plans kiddos, i wanted to make each chapter around 5,000 words long and I don't guarantee the next part is gonna be that long BUT here you go (this one isn't even 5000 words long but 4500 is close enough)
> 
> (also you can def tell this was written post-zizou/becks fic and i am sorry (if you haven't read that fic you should check it out even if you don't ship them. it's actually sorta serious!)
> 
>  
> 
>  **real chapter notes:**  
>  1.) xavi and the crew are going to come in the _next chapter ;)_  
>  2.) mandatory shirtless [Luis Enrique picture](http://www.luistattoo.com/uploads/gal_amigos/14/friends_21.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> translations:  
>  _Estimar-te em fa l’home més feliç del món_ : Loving you makes me the happiest man on earth.

The road to Florence was far from uneventful.

It started when Pep called to get a rental car set up. Since people already knew he was in the country, he saw no harm in being the one responsible for arranging their transportation out of the city. It went well, for the most part, as he was able to convince the attendant to hold the car until right before they closed, if it wasn’t for the fact that the clerk was a BVB fan and realized who he was talking to halfway through their conversation.

 

(“Yes, my name is Josep Guardiola.” Pep repeated, confusion evident in his voice. He’d just asked the fee he’d have to pay to take the car out of the region. At this, Luis looked up from his tablet, mirroring Pep’s bewilderment.

Meeting the younger man’s eyes, Luis quirked a brow. A loud noise came from the other end of call and the change in Pep’s expression was instantaneous. As much as he argued with the Asturian that he was prepared to be recognized, in the end, Pep wasn’t fully able to brace himself. His expression flickered from one of surprised to one of resigned acceptance. Even so, he couldn’t prevent himself from mouthing the word _“Fuck”_ while turning his eyes skyward following the loud chatter on the other side.

“Yes,” he continued with a tight smile, shooting Luis a pained glance before beginning to pace again. “Just like that.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. And what was the fee? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I’ll see what I can do. Uh-huh. You too. Ah, very funny,” he laughed a noticeably fake laugh.  “Good-bye.”

“And what was that?”

“A Borussia fan,” Pep sighed, rubbing his forehead with a grimace.

“That’s good, right?” Luis had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“He’ll probably have the paparazzi there when I arrive.”

“Ye of little faith.”

“He asked me for tickets for one of their games, too.”

“What the fuck?”

“Can you use your credit card?”

“Are you seriously going to make me buy BVB tickets for a twenty-something year old that may or may not arrange an impromptu photo-op at his car rental business?”

“… _No…?_ ” Pep replied after a moment of hesitation, the word coming out more like a question instead of a concrete response while he was looking searchingly at Luis’ expression in order to figure out what the correct response was.

 _“Pep!”_ )

 

Now they were on the long road to Tuscany, driving along in tense silence. They spent the last hour and a half arguing. Pep was looking everywhere but Luis, scowling at the dark countryside, cursing the nightfall for turning the road into a monochromatic blur. It didn’t help that Luis chose to go through the backroads, not only adding an hour to their commute, but making the way there considerably more boring.

That was the root of their argument, not only did the Asturian admit that he didn’t trust Pep driving, therefore taking control of the wheel, but he chose to go against his “hiding in plain sight” philosophy in what Pep thought was an impractical move, to put it nicely.  Their initial squabble, which started with Luis yelling at Pep for his backseat driving disintegrated into a fight about more mundane things.

“Change the music.” Which Pep still hadn’t let go.

Luis tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m driving, so I get to choose the music.”

“Oh, _okay_ ,” Pep replied sarcastically, throwing his arms in the air, “You just get to control everything now, don’t you?”

“I didn’t fucking-” Luis cut off his statement abruptly, choosing instead to inhale noisily.

Pep snorted, “Watch it. You wouldn’t want to break your hands like that.” The older man’s knuckles were now white, his straining grip causing the leather on the wheel to make small noises as he flexed.

“ _Pep_ …” he growled.  

“Oh, lighten up, it’s a joke.”

_“Like hell it’s a-”_

_“What? What are you gonn-”_

A spluttering noise caused them both to jump, taking them by surprise. They stared at the dashboard for a few moments before the car slowly came to a stop.

“Luis, why did you-”

“I didn’t- _Fuck!_ ” Luis yelled abruptly, slamming the heel of his palm against the steering wheel.

“You didn’t.” Pep deadpanned, quickly realizing the reason for Luis’ annoyance.

“I told you to remind me.” He muttered, pausing his string of curses to rest his forehead against the steering wheel.

“ _Luis Enrique!_ How can you forget to stop for gas? You’re the one driving!”

“I’m sorry if I was a little distracted,” Luis snapped, lifting his gaze to glare at Pep.

“You’re fucking walking.”

Luis mimicked Pep, repeating the statement in a high-pitched voice, _“You’re fucking walking,”_ while he fought to take off his seat belt with jerky movements that illustrated his anger _._ He scoffed, “Of course I am.”

Pep yelled after him, but it was pointless since Luis was ignoring him, leaving him to glare at the car door – which Luis slammed shut – left only with the image of his partner doing the _blah blah_ gesture before he got out of the car.

“Ass.” He said into the silence, petulantly crossing his arms.

  *

Pep ended up getting out of the car after beginning to feel vaguely claustrophobic. It didn’t help that he began to feel guilty after a few minutes, regretting not properly sending the other man off. He did practically send Luis into the dark unknown after all.

 

(Pep wasn’t left alone for long, for one of the few cars that drove down the abandoned road stopped next to him. He only had a moment to stiffen with fear, dread pooling in his stomach before he realized the family was gaping at him in surprise.

That’s when Pep noticed the car. A beat up Fiat covered in stickers. FC Barcelona stickers. Just his luck. He imagined the car used to be _blaugrana,_ too, but with all the paint that peeled off it was difficult to be certain.

“ _Pep Guardiola?”_

Cue another stiff smile. This was the photo-op he was waiting for. Too bad he couldn’t tell them he was waiting for his boyfriend, as much as he wanted to. His smile turned genuine at the thought. What would this family of diehard fans do when they realized that _Pep Guardiola_ and _Luis Enrique_ were dating?

He agreed to take some pictures after spending a few long moments trying to convince the family to not go out and get him gasoline. Even so, they looked like they were ready to siphon some off directly from their own car, but Pep was very convincing. He didn’t know how long he spent taking pictures with the family of six, during which he was asked to dinner no less than twelve times as well as asked to marry their daughter no less than ten. She was already engaged, but she seemed extremely willing to break it off at the prospect of marrying the Barcelona legend. Fortunately, the fiancé was absent – they were on their way to pick him up.)

 

In the end he was saved by the aforementioned fiancé who called the group since they were late in picking him up. Pep got a text at the same time.

**[mi media naranja]** _Here._

Hugging the family no less than three time each, Pep saw them off, a relieved smile covering his face.

“You’re popular today.”

“Jesus, Luis, warn me next time, won’t you?” Pep frowned to hide his embarrassment, glaring at Luis for scaring him – he had let out an undignified yelp which threw Luis into a fit of laughter.

“Get back in the car, I’ll take care of this” Luis replied, a fond smile on his face. “We’ve still a long way to go to get to Florence.”

“ _Florence?_ I thought you said you wanted to go to Pisa. ”

“Don’t worry, we’re still going to Pisa.”

“But isn’t it-”

_“Josep.”_

*

Luis informed Pep of his plans to take a detour in Florence before heading to Pisa once they made it back on the road. Although with a bit of difficulty, Pep held back more comments about the Asturian’s impracticality as well as ignoring his weak defense for this choice _“I like Pisa’s airport better.”_ Well, mostly ignoring it, Luis got an eye roll for his troubles.

Their luck wasn’t any better when they reached the city – having chosen to leave late at night, _again,_ and this time without a hotel reservation – they almost couldn’t find a place to stay. That, and a freak rainstorm had welcomed them into the city, further souring their mood. Parking was predictably impossible, but they were able to find a small inn at the edge of the “tourist” area. Their moods improved at the bargain they thought they were able to find, until they realized that the only room left with a single bed was a glorified closet – it was a full bed, thankfully not a twin, but still.

_“How am I supposed to fuck you on this?”_

“You know, you’ve been doing a lot of talk about fucking on this trip, Luis Enrique,” Pep tutted, tossing his soaked bag on the stool in front of their vanity – it was actually plain wooden table with a small circular mirror no larger than a record above it – “and yet you still have to deliver on that promise.”

“I-”

“Literally almost a five hour drive and all you can think about is sex.”

“Well, I-”

“‘Am not gonna do all the topping on this trip,’” Pep interjected, finishing the sentence for Luis. “Aw, Lucho,” Pep cooed sarcastically, placing a hand over his heart while turning to look at the older man with a pout, “how considerate of you.”

“So-”

“I’ll see how I feel in the morning.”

They actually ended up waking up early enough to see the sunrise. Not only did they have the same predicament that they had before in Milan – their poorly ventilated room didn’t have air conditioning or a fan – but they nearly kicked each other out of bed multiple times. They were a bit battered and bruised when they went out for breakfast, but felt triumphant, nonetheless, since neither of them ended up on the floor.

Obviously, Luis let Pep drag him along to see _The David_ as well as the multiple monuments and museums that littered the city. He didn’t mind because he was reminded of how entertaining and telling taking the Catalan to museums actually was. Not only was he literally dragged along – Pep had grown particularly fond of hand holding after Luis told him it was okay – but he got to see sides of the man that were hidden under his television persona. Luis took particular care in noting Pep’s reactions to different works. If he liked a particular piece, Pep merely stayed silent for a few moments while he studied a it and wouldn’t speak until he tugged Luis away, only to ask him if he liked it or not. On the other hand, if he was particularly passionate about something -a piece, the painter/sculptor or the subject matter- he would immediately start talking. Luis found it amusing that he was the sole audience to a few whispered lectures throughout the day - when Pep talked about something that piqued his interests it was almost like listening to a professor since his thoughts were so animated and articulate.

Florence was also fun because Luis convinced Pep to let him buy a gaudy keychain of _David’s_ famed ivy leaf to give to Andrés. Pep ended up buying Andrés a delicate – and expensive – glass sculpture to offset Luis’ awful gift, but it was difficult to stay mad at the Asturian. His dreadful taste was endearing, even if extended beyond weird trinkets to his own home décor. In the end, Luis was asked to leave the sculpture shop after nearly knocking an instillation over and Pep couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed; Luis had an unusual knack for picking out the ugliest things in the shop.

*

The only stayed in Florence for that day.

It wasn’t because they fact they nearly broke their small bed after dinner. (They may or may not have broken it, it had been extremely unstable the night before, too.)

 Or the fact there was a noticeable dent in the wall behind their bed. (They may or may not have made it, even though their neighbors did call the front desk to file a noise complaint for some unknown reason.)

Their destination was always Pisa, anyways.

*

Not wanting to continue their tradition of driving late at night, even though the road to Pisa was only a fraction of their previous trip, Luis and Pep decided to stop at a Bed and Breakfast. It had decent reviews online and, although it was a little out of their way, featured a small vineyard.

When they got to the place, they realized they had made a mistake.

They weren’t the only couple there, which was fine, but their hosts were a pair from America who starred on the show House Hunters and got this villa via that. Pep and Luis didn’t need to be worried about being recognized by them, but after they learned that an obligatory tour of the vineyard the next morning was included in their package, they began to rethink their stop.

“We need to leave,” Pep stated once he got out of the shower and walked determinedly towards his luggage. It was raining again, and, not only were they woken up at dawn to take part of this tour that they didn’t volunteer for, but it lasted for hours and their only reward was some shitty dry wine and a dollar store rain poncho – Luis tore his as soon as he put his on. It was obvious their hosts were amateur wine makers and Pep wasn’t saying this as a sweet wine type of guy.

“But we’re having _so much_ fun,” Luis teased from his spot on the bed. He had taken the first shower and was even able to catch up on his favorite _novela_ while he waited for Pep to finish up.

Pep only looked up to give Luis a dirty before turning back to finishing folding his clothes. He was too upset to joke.

“What are we gonna do with the bottle of wine they gave us?”

The Catalan grimaced, replying in a tone that was just shy of a whine, “Can’t we just leave it?”

*

They tried. Their hosts ended up chasing them to their car and giving them two bottles for their troubles, one white and one red.

Luis had to bribe Pep extensively from keeping him from throwing both bottles out the window.

*

 

(“Babe, _c’mon_ , we’ll figure something out. Besides, I think it’s some sort of national crime here to leave perfectly good wine on the side of the road.”

“ _Perfectly g-_ Pfft, I might have weird taste, but you have ba-”

Luis glanced over at Pep after hearing a strange choking sound that followed his aborted sentence. “You okay?” He asked, concerned.

“Did you _just_ \- Did you just call me ‘babe?’”

It was Luis’ turn to be taken aback. He tried to fight down the blush that threatened to show on his cheeks, but the telltale warmth on his face told him that he was failing. “Uh,” he coughed, tightening the grip on the wheel while he pointedly looked at the road ahead of him, “No?”

A beat passed. “That’s too bad,” Pep lamented, tone flippant.

Luis only had a moment to register his confusion before he felt Pep’s breath on his ear, “I liked it.”)

 

*

 

(“So, babe-“

“Pep, st-”

“Don’t interrupt me while I’m speaking, _sweetheart_.”

“ _Pep.”_

 “What’s next on the agenda, _cariño_?”

“I’m going to leave you on the side of the road if you keep at it, that’s what.”

“Aw, Luisito. I’m only trying to find out what pet name fits you, _mi cielo_.”

“I take it back, _cabrón_.”

“It’s too late, pookie.”

“Don’t ever use that one ever again.”

_“Poo-”_

“I’m gonna crash the car.”)

 

*

They’d finally broken their habit of travelling at night which was great in terms of getting things done, but it did mean that they’d have to fight for a parking spot, again. It wasn’t that the streets were teeming with people, but finding a space relatively close to la Piazza del Duomo or anything worthwhile was nearly impossible. At least the rain had let up from earlier that morning, but that didn’t mean that the pair’s steps weren’t tinged with a bit of anxiety – the sky looked like it was about to break at any moment.

Because of this, they reached the tower in record time, though were unable to climb it due to it being closed for some reason. There was no sign that either could spot, then again, the plethora of people in the green space in front of it doing various ridiculous poses to “support” the Tower might’ve been blocking it.

“Let me guess,” Luis muttered, letting go of Pep’s hand when the tower came into view. “You want me to take a picture of you?” Pep simply hummed noncommittally before placing his phone in the Asturian’s outstretched hand, jogging forward a few steps. “I can’t risk it getting stolen now, can I?”

Luis snorted, kneeling down to take a few photos, “Like you have anything important on here. Eh, are you keeping nudes on here or something, _babe_?”

Pep scowled, dropping his outstretched arms before striding up to snatch the phone away from Luis’ hands, the force of the movement strong enough to unbalance the Asturian who laughed from his, now sitting position, on the ground. “As a matter of fact, yes. Of my other boyfriend who knows _how to keep his voice down_ ,” Pep hissed, frowning while he scrolled through his phone to check if the photos Luis took were up to par.

Luis just shook his head and stood up while Pep fumed, wiping the dirt from his jeans before stepping next to the Catalan. He wrapped his arms loosely on his waist before he rested his chin on the other’s shoulder, looking down at his ministrations. “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Luis murmured ignoring Pep’s scoff of _“That doesn’t even make sense.”_ He kissed the younger man’s jaw before continuing, “Besides, I thought you liked it when I was loud? I didn’t hear you complaining in Florence, Josep.”

At that Pep let out an embarrassed noise, halfheartedly trying to elbow Luis away. “Will you quit it? We’re in public, there are children here, Luis Enrique.”

Luis just hummed, nuzzling Pep’s neck, ignoring the other’s protests at feeling his day-old stubble, _“Estimar-te em fa l’home més feliç del món.”_

“Oh my god, who the fuck are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” Pep continued, both annoyed and touched at Luis’ actions. “I know you’re a jealous bastard, but I thought you could take a joke. Now, get the fuck off and let me take a selfie.”

Luis gave Pep some space, still refusing to let go of his waist, “Why?”

“I’m saving it for a rainy day, now get back here so we can take one together.”

*

They forgot where they parked their car.

“There’s no harm in getting more lost, is there?”

“Pep, you can stop,” Luis rolled his eyes at the Catalan’s chipper tone. “I know you just want to see if you can buy some souvenirs.”

Pep visibly sagged at the older man’s statement, flashing him a quick relieved smile. “I’m sorry, I just feel guilty, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” Luis frowned, “Xavi yelled at me. _Yelled at me_. Why do you want to get him something?”

“Because he’s my friend. Our friend,” Pep added pointedly.

“And Puy-”

Pep nearly dislocated Luis’ shoulder with his very sudden and very enthusiastic pointing. Who would’ve known that holding hands with Pep Guardiola would be hazardous? “Hey, look! Let’s go in there.”

Weirdly enough, they went into a small convenience store, which apart from having things to suit the local’s needs, was littered with bright, mass produced souvenirs. They were a bit far from the beach, but there were multiple boogie boards sporting various painted scenes of the sunset, the Tower, and the Tower during a sunset. It was a bit overwhelming, if Luis thought about it, but, oddly, Pep looked totally at ease navigating the crowded establishment.  

Luis left Pep to look around the store while he went to go find the cheapest thing he could buy so he could go use the bathroom. When he came back, a few snacks in tow, he found the younger man kneeling in front of those vending machines with small toy capsules in them, the lot of three a bit yellowed in age.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to decide what sticker I want.”

Luis stared at his partner in stunned silence, wondering why he wanted such a gaudy sticker for. Not to mention that their poor quality made the few that had the Tower on them look vaguely phallic.

Pep chose the middle machine that had stickers as well as cheap plastic jewelry, “This is my only coin,” he muttered before putting it in. He sighed loudly to express his disappointment, knowing the other patrons wouldn’t be happy to hear him curse. “I got a fucking bracelet,” he growled, extremely put out at getting what would have been any kid’s first choice.

Letting out an exaggerated groan as he stood up, Pep turned to Luis, shoulders hunched. “Give me your arm.”

“Why?” Luis asked, while doing what he was told. Again, the Asturian feared for his shoulder’s safety as Pep roughly put the plastic silver bracelet on his wrist. Much to his chagrin, it didn’t look that bad.

“Are you done here?”

Letting out a sigh of his own, Luis fished out an extra coin from his pocket and handed it to Pep, “I don’t want to hear you complain the whole way back.”

“I wasn’t going to complain,” Pep rebutted, trying not to grin.

He positively beamed once he saw that the next capsule had a sticker in it.

*

(“What kind of sticker has instructions on it?” Pep asked after a few moments. He had struggled to get the plastic capsule open while he walked.

Luis couldn’t help but laugh at Pep’s confusion, waiting a few more moments before taking it from Pep’s hands. “It’s a temporary tattoo.”

_“What?!”_

“ _Pep, no. No!_ Get back here, we’re not going to go back.”

“But-”

“Come. Back. Here.”

“Shit, okay, calm down.” Pep walked back slowly, reluctance showing in every step.

Luis grabbed Pep’s arm, ignoring the other’s confused stare. “Are we gonna walk?”

“Just a sec,” The Asturian replied, taking the water bottle he bought out of his bag.

“What are yo- _Luis?!”_ The water was cold.

“This’ll give the paps something to talk about,” Luis smirked, keeping the tight hold he had on Pep’s, now soaked, wrist. “Don’t worry,” he added, rolling his eyes at the other’s glare, “it’s high enough that you can cover it up. _It’s a temporary tattoo, Pep._ ”

“This is entirely unnecessary.”

“Too little, too late.”

“Fuck you.”)

*

Once they found the car, they left the sleepy town center and made their way to the beach. One of the things Luis used to convince Pep to leave Milan was the promise of taking him out to eat fresh saltwater fish, and, after the “tattoo incident” as the Catalan so nicely put it, he wouldn’t shut up about it.

 

(“You’re taking me here for breakfast, too.”

“You’re the worst date, did you know that?”

“I didn’t want a tattoo!”

“Pep, _it’s fake_.”

“…The food was really good.”

“Jesus, you could have just said that instead of milking the tattoo thing.”

“I love you?”)

 

The following day was unusually hot, thus allowing the pair to sit outside for breakfast. Luis was doubly pleased every time a gust of wind threatened to blow Pep’s food away. A “nice sea breeze” he called it while grinning devilishly at Pep’s struggles. Pep just grumbled, cursing Luis’ schadenfreude while assuring the Asturian that this wasn’t some sort of karma for his passive aggressive habits.

The wind managed to settle down later that morning, which allowed Luis to convince Pep not to waste the day and go to the beach.   

“You’re going to get pneumonia,” Pep said casually, not even bothering to look up from his magazine at Luis’ shirtless form when he returned from his beer run. Pep, on the other hand, was in a light sweater, enjoying the shade of the umbrella above him.

“But you enjoyed putting sunscreen on me, didn’t you?”

Pep snorted, turning to look at the man that was now laying in the lounge next to him, “You’re full of it, aren’t you?”

“Hey! You were all over me while you did it. Don't tell me that was necessary.”

The Catalan did not dignify the statement with a response, instead turning back to the magazine in his hand – he didn’t want to get sand in his phone, but there was only so much celebrity gossip he could take.

“Hey, Pep,” Luis began in a serious tone.

Pep quirked a brow, looking up to find the Asturian looking at him intently, a bit closer than he was before, “Hm?”

“We should get matching tattoos.”

“We’re not getting matching tattoos,” Pep replied flatly.

“I know how much you love mi-”

“Are you serious right now, Narcissus?”

“But Pep,” Luis whined. “It’ll be cute. Don’t you want to be a cute couple, Pep? Please, Pep _. Peppp_.”

“No.”

“Listen,” the Asturian continued, sitting up, “I’ve a few ideas where we can get them.”

“ _Luis,”_ Pep began before he felt the other man tugging at his arm. Having no choice but to drop his magazine, Pep looked back at Luis, only to be met by the man’s mischievous smile. “I’ve already got one on my wrist so that wouldn’t do,” he mused. Grinning, Luis tried to pull up at the hem of Pep’s sweater to which Pep tried to move away from the older man while not falling off of his own beach lounge.

“Sto-” he began, trying to kick Luis, who in turn poked his side. “Here would be good. Oh, and here. And here.”

“Luis En-. _Luis._ ” Pep laughed, struggling weakly against Luis who was basically straddling him at this point.

“And here. And, ooh, here would be good. And-”

“Luis,” Pep gasped, pushing weakly at the chuckling older man’s chest. “Stop. That tickles.”

“Oh, really?” Luis quipped sarcastically, quirking a brow. Pep looked at him with a small, but relieved smile, happy that the Asturian had stopped his actions and let him breathe. Then, “I hadn’t noticed.” Luis began to tickle Pep in earnest after that point.

_“Luis!”_

*

**_¿BUENAS NOCHES BARCELONA? IS LUCHO FINALLY OUT?  
_ ** _Luis Enrique, the Spanish club’s manager, was spotted soaking up the rays in Tusca-_

“Pep, what are you doing?”

“Remember that selfie I took by myself yesterday?”

“Ye-

“I’m posting it.”

“Rome?”

“Rome.”

*

 _“Uh, hello,”_ There was a brief moment of static _. “Lio?”_

“Hey, Geri? What’s up?”

_“Can you, um, can you do me a favor? Can you google el míster and maybe Pep, too?”_

“Geri, er, aren’t you in Italy with-”

Lio heard a faraway voice yelling over the line _“Yes, he is!”_

Geri sighed before speaking, voice small and pleading, _“Please, Lio.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are appreciated!!!
> 
> also might be able to take requests? or do collabs and stuff? idk im in the writing mood! message me on tumblr!
> 
>  __  
> part 3: rome & christmas party (ayyy)


	3. Rome >> Barcelona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saga of middle-aged men running away from the curious eyes of the paparazzi during their honeymoon-esque type date comes to an end.
> 
> In which people kinda find out and Luis and Pep find out they're old.  
> (Featuring an unplanned cameo from the Baby Dream team).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is sort of rushed, but I really wanted to finish this and it's kinda weird to write fics now that I'm back home, but I'm on vacation and I've loads of time on my hands, even though I have to do the majority of my writing at night away from the prying eyes of my parents.
> 
> 1.) [ RIP Skymall ](https://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/28-essential-things-youll-never-be-able-to-buy-from-skymall?utm_term=.cbk0koQPp#.xpdw3RQEb)  
> 2.) [Mouth of Truth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bocca_della_Verit%C3%A0)  
> 3.) I made [ this ](https://67.media.tumblr.com/e40a77d73f8ab41bb3cb4394b4834133/tumblr_o7p68yvidI1qcuwk4o1_1280.png) a few weeks ago because I was bored, don't judge ;P
> 
> translation:  
>  _no seas tan exagerado:_ don't be so exaggerated

Luis hadn’t planned on using Pisa’s airport to be flying to Rome. At least, the trip was short. Even so, Pep wouldn’t stop moving around, restless, and almost impossibly causing a disturbance even in the wide first class seats.

“Pep, what’s wrong?”

“I know I should be happy that they just got pictures of you walking and not anything else, but I’m fucking annoyed.” He punctuated his sentence with a loud sigh while he rubbed his forehead.

Luis let out a sympathetic hum, lacing his fingers with Pep’s over the arm rest, “It’ll be okay,” he responded absentmindedly, more focused on trying to figure out why _Sky Mall_ would sell such things.

Pep let out another sigh, mouth opening to complain again until a silver glint caught his eye. The plastic bracelet. _Luis never took it off_ , Pep realized, staring at it in surprise.

“You’re such a sap,” he choked out.

Luis glanced over at Pep’s abrupt change in subject only to see him staring at their linked hands. That was nothing new, so he turned back to his reading, until he felt a familiar pair of lips kiss his cheek. “I love you,” Pep murmured, continuing to trail his lips down the Asturian’s jaw.

“Pep?” Luis asked, letting out a surprised chuckle. He gave up on reading – Pep was very distracting.

“I love you,” he repeated after he pulled away, eyes bright.

Shaking his head fondly, Luis leant over to capture Pep’s lips in a proper kiss, squeezing his hand as he did so.

“Since you’re all lovey-dovey and touchy feely, I think there’s something you should know.”

“ _Luis_ -” Pep began, confused, his weariness evident in his tone, but the man in question continued as if the Catalan hadn’t spoken.

“I haven’t joined the Mile High Club, yet, and I think-”

“ _Luis Enrique Martínez García_ ,” Pep hissed, glaring, “we are not going to ‘join’ anything are you out of your fucking mi-”

 “Uh, sirs? Would you like anything to drink?”

*

(“You seriously had to ruin the fucking moment. _Seriously_?”

“Josep,” Luis sighed, exasperated. “It was a logical follow up question, thank you very much.”

“You know the whole crew hates us now, we so much as look at them the wrong way and they’re just going to- Get. Your. Hand. Off. My. Thigh.”

“Sorry,” Luis replied, not sounding sorry at all, opting to slide his hand down to Pep’s knee after the Catalan pinched Luis’ arm. “I couldn’t help but realize that you never said ‘no.’”

“God,” Pep groaned, rubbing his forehead, “you’re so fucking dense.”

“Still not a-”

“We’re not going to California, one. We’re flying in Italy. Two: We’re about to land, we don’t have time for this.”

“But if we were-”

“I take it back, I take absolutely everything back. I hate you.”)

*

“You know if they catch us here we’re basically dead in the water, right?”

Pep scoffed, pausing to inspect the shirt he found, “We’ll be fine. I was spotted eating steak in Pisa a few hours ago. And, before you ask, no I didn’t leak that information about myself. And no, you can’t leak fake information about us.”

“I” Luis coughed, embarrassed to have been caught red-handed, “wasn’t planning to?”

Pep shot Luis a dirty look before showing him the shirt. “You think Carles would like this?”

The Catalan’s guilt at not getting his friends presents was in full swing here in Rome. He’d already gotten his coaching staff some expensive gifts and now was looking for things for those who lived in Barcelona. His brother, Pere, was getting the “disgusting” bottle of white wine from the Americans – he liked white wine, apparently, but this was the type of alcohol to cause family rifts, in Luis’ opinion. Currently, Pep was showing Luis an “I <3 ROMA” shirt that mimicked the iconic “I <3 NY” ones. This shirt, however, had the Colosseum’s red silhouette on it instead of a heart.  They’d visited the monument the day before and Luis noted that the image was pretty accurate for a twenty euro shirt.

“I think you should get it in a different color,” Luis replied, nodding to the neon rainbow of shirts in front of them. “White’s pretty boring don’t you think?”

Pep huffed incredulously, “No one can pull those colors off.”

Luis chose not to reply, instead picking out the shirt in florescent purple. “Exactly.”

Pep stared at the shirt for a few moments before nodding, “He deserves it, anyways. Did you see what he texted me after he saw the Milan article? The fucking nerve.” Not to mention the fact that after his initial _“Eating for two?”_ text Puyol kept on sending the former midfielder screenshots about the other articles that popped up about him. “You would think he’d have something better to do. Can’t really complain, though. He still hasn’t pieced together the fact that we were in Pisa on the same day.”

Luis snorted, remembering the notifications that he was currently ignoring from his friend. It was a miracle that Puyol hadn’t figured out that he and Pep were spending some time together, if he read some of the articles he sent, at least. They had been spotted in the same city a few times, even though they hadn’t been anywhere close to Turin during their trip. “Wait ‘til you tell him you’re fucking me.” Luis waggled his eyebrows.

“Guess I’m gonna have to get him two shirts, then,” Pep replied flippantly, having already turned his attention back to the shirt rack in front of him. “But you’re going to tell him. It’ll be more of a surprise coming from you.”

Luis guffawed at that, causing the other patrons to stare at him, “You’re such a dick sometimes, sometimes. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” Pep echoed with a huff, “Just what I wanted to hear, my lover calling me names.”

“ _Lov-_ Why did you say it like tha-” Suddenly, Luis reached over Pep to grab a black shirt. “ _Ooh_ , I like this one.”

Pep stared at the shirt apprehensively, “You’re not getting that.”

“Why not?” It sounded more like “ _Why naw?”_ due to the fact that older man was using his chin to help hold the shirt to his torso. The shirt had ROMA written in bold white print, except the “O” was La Bocca della Verità. “It’s nice,” Luis pouted after lifted the shirt out in front of him to inspect it. “Or should I get it in white?”

“Luis,” Pep admonished, albeit weakly “We still need to get Xavi something.”

“You know what? I’ll get both. That way, we can match. You look good in black.”

_“Babe.”_

*

Rome, surprisingly, treated them well. Absent were the mobs with burning pitchforks that Luis expected would try to chase him from the city, and absent were the paparazzi the pair thought they would both stumble upon. The city was almost uncomfortably crowded due to the fact that it was the holiday season, but the Christmas cheer seemed to be successful in distracting anyone who wanted a piece of them.

They stayed long enough for Luis to wear his recently bought ROMA shirt and for Pep to steal it and wear it around, as well. Though Luis didn’t realize it happened until the pair was going through their phones the following night.

 

(“Do you want your family to hate me?”

“I’m a grown man and I can do what I want. They’re just going to assume that I bought it, not that we’re having sex. Not everyone has their minds in the gutter like you do, Luis.”

“But they already hate me, though. They’re gonna hate me even more for giving you such a horrible present, or something.”

“Calm down, it’s no big deal. They just think you’re a closet Madridista, honestly.”

“ _What?_ What gave them that idea?”

“You’re just jealous that it looks better on me than it does on you.”

“…Don’t ignore my question, Josep.”)

 

Not all was well, though, when they went out for a late night gelato run at Pep’s insistence.

 

(“Do you know how many tourists are around? C’mon, _baby_. There’s bound to be a place open.”

“If you quit your whining, then I’ll be happy to go.”

“I don’t whine.”

“Really, baby?”

“Okay, maybe I do a little.”)

*

“I can’t believe you made us walk to three places to get some ice cream.” Luis mumbled after tossing his empty cup away, reluctantly taking Pep’s outstretched hand. After sensing the other’s hesitation, Pep harshly tugged the other towards him with a roll of his eyes. Pep squeezed Luis’ hand tightly, smirking at the other’s indignant yell, only loosening his grip after hearing the Asturian’s forced _“Sorry.”_

“Gelato, Luis. And I had a craving for a specific flavor, leave me be.”

“You should be glad that I put up with you,” Luis rebutted in a flat tone, countering his annoyance by swinging their linked hands. “We literally walked the whole city, I think we’re going to be able to watch the sunrise at this point.”

“ _No seas tan exagerado_ ,” Pep scoffed, leaning heavily onto the older man’s shoulder. “I bet it hasn’t even been an hour.”

“We should be in bed, though,” Luis said matter-of-factually, punctuating his statement with a quick kiss to Pep’s temple. “We have a flight to catch.”

Pep hummed, “It’s not like you to cut a day short, especially our last one. What happened to you, old man?”

However, Luis didn’t get a chance to reply, but suddenly stopped, causing Pep to stumble at the abrupt end of their leisurely stroll.

_“Wha-”_

“Did you hear that?”

Pep opened his mouth to reply, only to blanch after hearing the tell-tale _Click!_ of a camera shutter. “Shit.”

Ignoring the Catalan’s continued “Shit. Shit. Shit,” Luis looked around to find the cameramen in question in order to be able to try and convince them to not publish any incriminating pictures they may have taken. There was no need to jump to conclusions, especially when they were faced with possibly fixable situation.

“Fuck, are paparazzi part-time ninjas now or something?”

In his haste, the Asturian didn’t notice Pep step closer to him, causing him to flinch once the younger man spoke up. “Luis. Luis, look,” Pep murmured, lips brushing his ear. Following his line of sight, Luis was greeted by the sight of Francesco Totti being mobbed by a large group of cameramen and fans. It seemed that in their search for the perfect gelato, Luis and Pep had stumbled back into the heart of town, and, therefore, back in all of the action; the Italian footballer was accompanied by a couple of his other teammates, some of whom were stumbling through the threshold of a club.

“Hiding in plain sight is bullshit,” Pep laughed loudly, obviously relieved, dragging his partner away from the commotion. “We’re never doing this again.”

With a shake of his head, Luis looked over at Pep, lips curling up in a mischievous smile, “Guess we better make the best of it then, hm?”

“Luis, what-”

However, Pep didn’t get to finish his question due to the fact that the Asturian forcibly pushed him up against the building behind them, though not a moment too soon. “I gotta admit, I wasn’t planning that,” Luis chuckled, taking a step back and turning to look at a few Roma players running behind him to find somewhere to hide.

“What were you planning, then?” Pep asked breathlessly, eyes bright.

*

_“WHAT THE FUCK?”_

“Xavi, inside voice, please.”

“What the fuck?”

“Are you okay?”

“ _NO!_ No,” Xavi repeated at Puyol’s glare, breathing deeply in order to try to return his breathing pattern back to normal.  “Have you seen this?” He exclaimed, waving his phone at the older man’s face.

“No, and I still can’t, not when you’re holding your phone that close to my face.”

Sighing loudly, Xavi handed his phone to Puyol, immediately turning to go find the host of their impromptu get-together, knowing that Andrés had more patience than Carles.

“Why are you showing me pictures of Totti?” Puyol called out, frowning while he scrolled through The Mirror article that Xavi had on his phone.

“It’s not that,” Xavi replied after a few moments with a concerned Andrés in tow. Puyol couldn’t blame him, Xavi’s scowl looked almost permanent, at this point. “Look closer.”

“Honestly, did you drink that much last night? Thanks again for letting us stay, by the way, Andrés.” Puyol added as an afterthought. They both had a few too many glasses of wine at last night’s dinner.

“Look. Closer.” Xavi growled, crossing his arms.

“Iniesta can you help me here or something? Xavi’s being unnecessarily difficult.”

Looking over Puyol’s shoulder, Andrés echoed Carles’ question after a few moments, “What are we supposed to be looking for? I only see seven pictures of Totti here.”

“Luis Enrique and Pep Guardiola are making out in the background.”

“No, seriously,” Puyol continued, looking up to meet Xavi’s gaze, “What are we supposed to be looking at here?”

“I am serious,” Xavi snapped, snatching the device from Puyol’s hand. While he tried to find a way to make the images bigger on his phone, a suspiciously grinning Andrés took out his own phone and was debating whether or not to send out a message of his own.

“Look,” Xavi huffed, shoving the phone back into Puyol’s face, who, in turn, roughly took the device from Xavi’s hand to hold it to a humane distance away from his face. “I bought Luis that _blaugrana_ watch.”

“Oh.”

Puyol was silent for a few moments, staring at the couple that the image was now focused on, unable to take his eyes off the watch. _“Oh,”_ he repeated, a feeling of dread spreading through his body as he realized that Pep and Luis were both spotted in Italy. That they were both there. Together.

“What the fuck,” he breathed, realizing that it was Luis’ hand at the nape of Pep’s neck and Luis who Pep was cornering up against a brick wall. It was _Pep Guardiola_ and _Luis Enrique_ who were making out in some random street in Italy.

“Oh my god, right?” Andrés piped up, too jovial to sound genuinely shocked. 

*

  
“Pep, why’d your favorite midfielder just send me a text that’s just the crying with laughter emoji?”

“I don’t have a favorite midfielder,” Pep replied automatically before dropping the shirt he was folding in order to move closer to Luis and to look over his shoulder. “Which one was it?”

“The pale one,” Luis deadpanned, now scrolling through various messages from the aforementioned midfielder that were just single emoji’s. 

“Andrés?” Pep frowned. “Why?”

“That’s why I’m...asking you…” Luis trailed off, hearing Pep’s phone start to ring. “You think that’s…?”

“I don’t want to pick up,” Pep replied after seeing who was calling him, shooting the Asturian an alarmed look. “Don’t make me pick up.”

Not many things made the Catalan that nervous, and that in itself was enough to make Luis’ defenses go into overdrive. “Who is it?”

“Xavi.”

_“Fuck.”_

*

_“I never said you were stupid!”_

“Then why did I have to find out over the internet?”

_“Andrés knows!”_

“I don’t care, you should have-

_“Raúl even figured it out!”_

“Wait, how long has this been going on?”

* 

(“Hey, Pep?”

“I don’t want to hear it, Luis.”

“Wanna be my plus one to the Christmas party?”

“Luis, are you ser-”

“Okay,” Pep replied after Luis pulled away, a bit breathless after their kiss.)

* 

“I demand a better present.”

“Xavi,” Luis growled, shooting the Catalan a dark look as they walked up to Gerard’s house “Be thankful you actually got something, I wasn’t actually going to get you anything.”

Behind them, Puyol scoffed, “It would’ve been better if you hadn’t gotten _me_ anything.” Carles was less than happy with his brightly colored shirt.

“I, for one, am very grateful for most of my gifts,” Andrés called out, flashing Pep a beaming smile, “though I think your keychain mysteriously disappeared, Luis.”

Pep let out an incredulous laugh at that, shaking his head disbelievingly, “I can’t believe you.”

“He gets the mean streak from you, Pep.”

“Shut up, Luis.”

“Make me, babe.”

A chorus of groans followed that statement.

_“Please don’t.”_

_“Don’t you fucking dare.”_

_“As long as I can send pictures to the team’s group text.”_

*

 The party was surprisingly quiet at their arrival, though the guests’ relief palpable, since they had been running low on ice and, due to Neymar’s insatiable sweet tooth, the Brazilian had started to bother the team, a bit grumpy after he had eaten the last of the Christmas cookies.

No one was surprised at Puyol’s presence –it was business as usual for the former defender, though. He immediately made a beeline towards the host of the party since he spotted Piqué with a box of matches in his hands; Piqué could never be trusted, especially with something potentially flammable – but Pep’s appearance caused a stir.

“I invited him.”

“He’s my plus one.”

“He’s my mister.”

(Pep was suspiciously quiet at Luis’ side while he struggled to explain to his team why the Catalan was there, though he couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter at the ‘míster’ explanation.)

Luis quickly gave up on giving anymore explanations after Rafinha just stared at the pair for a long moment and asked whether or not he could call his brother. The older man settled for wrapping his arm around Pep’s waist and following him around the party, instead, frustrated at the fact that his team was incredibly dense.

 

(“They get that from you.”

“Shut up, Pep, at least I tried to talk to them.”)

*

A couple of hours later and a few renditions of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You,” Pep and Luis found themselves curled up by the fire pit outside. Pep rested his head on Luis’ lap, arm covering his eyes while he melodramatically lamented the team’s confusion.

“They’re never gonna get it. They’re never going to figure it out. Not even _Masche_ \- I bet we can walk out right now and no one will notice.”

“Do you want to?”

“What?”

“Want to sneak out?”

 

They didn’t end up going very far, only to the car, since they carpooled with Puyol. The defender, surprisingly enough, was in a trusting mood and ended leaving his car unlocked leaving the coaches to utilize this faux pas to their advantage and use the car as their hiding spot.

“What are we doing?” Pep groaned, throwing his head back against the passenger’s seat. “Are we this old?”

“Hey, you wanted to sneak out in the first place,” Luis chuckled, sneaking a glance at the man beside him, “Xavi’s already pressuring me to pay for a few mandatory spa days so that he can erase the 'trauma,'" Luis snorted, framing the last word with air quotes, "that we’ve caused him. He told me he's really happy for us, me especially because you're out of my league, apparently. Then he said it's like thinking about his parents having sex. Honestly, he's just being unnecessarily difficult because he wants to get me to make up for his Christmas present. I won't even get him chocolates next time." Luis sighed, but couldn't hide the small smile he got when talking about Xavi. "How do you think your team’s gonna take it?”

“Don’t,” Pep snapped, raising his hand. “Don’t make me think of that disaster.”

“Potential disaster, you mean.”

The Catalan scoffed. “I gave Barça the benefit of the doubt and you saw how this turned out.”

Luis hummed noncommittally, turning to fix his hair in the rear-view mirror. “Well, the night’s still young.”

*

It took them a while to realize that it was strange that they could see each other in the darkness, their post-coital haze clouding their mind, and, thankfully for Luis, erasing their embarrassing move to the backseat from their memory – he didn’t mean to honk the horn, it’s not like he _wanted_ them to get caught.

“What-” They only had a moment to register a car’s headlights behind them before they flickered off.

A few seconds later, too quickly for their sluggish minds to tell them to move, someone knocked on their window. “Uh, Pep?

With a few muffled curses, Pep leant over to reach button to roll down the window, much to Luis’ dismay - it was hard to breathe while the younger man crawled on top of him.

“Hey, er, Cesc. What’s up?” Pep replied with a wobbly smile, blanching a bit as the other man took in his disheveled appearance – or as much as Cesc could since Pep had only rolled down the window halfway, choosing to peak up through the space left instead of revealing a telltale salt and pepper head of hair under him.

“It’s been a while! I recognized your silhouette,” Cesc grinned, relieved. “I hope you don’t mind, I thought something may have happened to you.”

“Oh, no,” Pep laughed, though his was obviously more faked than his companion’s. “I’m just taking a break from the party.”

“Ah, I bet it's wild, isn’t it?”

Cesc and Pep continued to have a normal conversation, easily slipping away from small talk into deeper, more complicated topics. In any other situation, Luis would have been grateful that Pep’s relationship with his former player was on the mend, but it was hard to find a bright side from his position, especially when Pep’s elbow was digging into his solar plexus. As inconspicuously as he could, Luis tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, though it was nearly impossible to do without jostling the man above him.

A loud bang startled the pair of Catalans into stunned silence that was quickly broken by the older of the two bursting into laughter.

“Uh, Pep?”

“I’m-I’m fine Cesc,” Pep gasped between laughs while brushing tears from his eyes. Luis had ended up on the floor in his attempt to get more comfortable and his weak glare did nothing to quiet down Pep’s laughter.

“I’m just gonna- yeah,” Cesc mumbled before rushing inside to find Puyol.  Pep shouldn’t be able to drive in that state.

*

(“Puyi! Pep’s outside and I was talking to him and he just started _laughing_ and-”

“Is he alone?”

“-it was out of nowhere because I was just telling him that Geri invited me and- Well, it looked like it, but his shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way and that’s so not like him and like- Why are you giving me that look?”

“Go ask Xavi and Andrés to give you you-know-who’s coats.”)

*

“I couldn’t breathe Pep, it wasn’t funny.” Luis grumbled from his new position against the car console, using the small square as a seat, his crossed arms completing his annoyed look.

“It was hilarious and you know it.”

“My back hurts, a lot.”

Pep gave Luis an exaggerated pout before condescendingly patting the other’s shoulder, “Did you get a boo boo?”

“Shove it,” Luis growled, moving to grab both of Pep’s wrists, a feat that made him awkwardly straddle the Catalan, who, in turn, looked too pleased at his newly compromised position. “It’s not funny.”

“Will a kiss make it better?”

*

“What do you want?” Pep snapped at Cesc once he returned, his complete 180 in mood taking Cesc by surprise.

“Uh, your coat...s?” Cesc squeaked after Pep snatched the objects in question from his hands,somehow managing to fit them through the window - at least this time he had rolled it down all the way. “Should I, um, Should I go look for Luis Enrique? Puyi told me that the other jacket was his.”

“Uh, hi, Cesc,” Luis called out, leaning over in order to be seen from his seat from the console.

“Oh! Hi, I’m gonna- I’m just- Bye!” An obviously traumatized Cesc stuttered before running off.

“Who would’ve known that the Second Coming of Pep Guardiola is blind as hell.”

“Leave him alone, babe. He put it together quicker than Xavi.”

“Hey, Puyi put his keys in here. Is he kicking us out?”

“Whatever, let’s just go.”

*

“Geri, I don’t think you should-”

“I knew it, Lio! I knew it. And no one would believe me!” Gerard yelled, slamming his third straight shot of tequila heavily against the counter.

“We get it, Geri,” Cesc huffed, forcibly yanking the full glass away from his companion. “No need to get alcohol poisoning to prove it.”

“What the fuck,” Gerard groaned, running his fingers through his hair, glaring into empty space accusingly. “How did no one else realize this?”

Unbeknownst to him, a trio was watching his fit from the shadows, their expressions ranging from annoyance (Xavi), concern (Andrés), and anger (Carles).

“Tch, it’s not that serious.”

“Leave him be, Xavi. This is really taking a toll on him.”

“That dumbass is gonna end up hurting himself if he keeps it up.”

"Where are you going, Puyi?"

I'm going to stop that idiot, what does it look like I'm doing, Andrés?"

*

“Pep, when did we get married?”

“Luis Enrique, if this is the way that you’re proposing to me, I’m literally going to have to break up with you and tell my parents that you sleep in your old Real Madrid jerseys.”

“No, you idiot,” Luis grumbled, tossing the letter onto the table in front of the younger man, being careful to avoid the other’s breakfast. “What the fuck is this?”

Pep picked up the plain white letter from in front of him, frowning as he looked past over thirty signatures and small blurbs in order to find the large note written unmistakable penmanship of one Gerard Piqué.

_Sorry we missed the wedding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR READING THIS I APPRECIATE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU THAT STUCK WITH THIS AND READ THIS FIC YOUR SUPPORT HONESTLY MEANS SO MUCH 
> 
> sorry for yelling, but it's true. thank you so much, i know it progressively got worst and lacked direction, but i think it's good all and all! this is the longest thing i've ever written! (the word doc is 35 pages O:) 
> 
> more notes!!  
> 1.) here are some images that'll get the feels going ([ X ](https://65.media.tumblr.com/347f39212652f5ef9b68a79ac712639d/tumblr_o7p68yvidI1qcuwk4o3_250.jpg), [ X ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/15ae8146d29873cf84b07f83f8fd9b9d/tumblr_o7p68yvidI1qcuwk4o2_250.jpg)) especially ([ this ](https://67.media.tumblr.com/a5c69b0c21fbde87311bdd193532b1b0/tumblr_o7p68yvidI1qcuwk4o4_1280.jpg) one , which is like an HQ still from a video that shows most awkward kiss in history.)  
> 2.) puyi and lucho are like [ lowkey besties ](http://crazy8iniesta.tumblr.com/post/144517776030/luis-enrique-at-2006-champions-league-final-in).  
> 3.) Pep speaks[ very ](https://www.theguardian.com/football/2009/may/24/andres-iniesta-champions-league-barcelona-manchester-united) [ highly ](http://www.sport-english.com/en/news/barca/guardiola-iniesta-was-impossible-not-play-him-saw-that-was-different-4263782) about Iniesta.  
> 4). Luis Enrique made Xavi [ stay an extra year](http://www.football-espana.net/53949/xavi-enrique-made-me-stay) and Xavi and Pep are close too.  
> don't be afraid to hit me up on tumblr - links are on my profile! - i'll def be writing more


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